


I Can't Pretend

by Gabby



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, F/M, Falling In Love, Gun Violence, Hiatus fic, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Italian Mafia, Love Confessions, Making Love, Mild Sexual Content, Non-Graphic Violence, OTP Feels, Pining, Underage Prostitution, Undercover, developing feelings, implied kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-19 15:52:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1475467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabby/pseuds/Gabby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He hates this. All of it. He doesn't hate Amy. He wants to go home.</i> Companion piece to Waiting For You. In which Jake spends six months away from everything he knows and mulls over life in general - and on one person in particular.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can't Pretend

**Author's Note:**

> So, here's another post-finale story, if you hadn't gotten sick of those yet. I really enjoyed the response to my first one so, I thought why don't I just write a spin-off of sorts to it and see how that turns out? And here it is! :) I hope you guys enjoy and that it turns out as good as WFY. 
> 
> :) You guys rock so hard, it's not even funny!
> 
> Title is from the song Can't Pretend by Tom Odell. Pretty much encapsulates what Jake's feeling throughout a good chunk of this fic.

Jake gets piss drunk the night he meets Leo Ianucci.

   It's obviously not because he's fired which he obviously is and it's obviously for the benefit of this whole, FBI sanctioned undercover op and he really _doesn't_ have to drink some more after he capture's Ianucci's attention and manages to charm him enough to get a meet the next day to secure himself a job connection with Leo's _friend_ _of_ _a_ _friend_ \- no matter how excited he is by this whole thing, even his inebriated brain can see how clichéd that comment is and he has to literally fight not to roll his eyes - but, he does anyway.

Drink, that is.

He orders himself more whiskey even after his new mob friend leaves.

He orders himself more whiskey because the thing that's at the forefront of his mind is the fact that, a few hours ago, he'd told his partner, Amy Santiago. Uptight. By the book. Party poopin'. Perpetually neurotic... Amazing. Beautiful. Sweet. Heart almost always in the right place Amy Santiago... That he'd had feelings for her.

 _Has_. Has feelings for her.

_Get it right._

Well, specifically, he'd actually said he'd wished something would happen between them - romantic-stylez.

_Stylez with a z._

And it's like, what the fuck? What the fuck had he been thinking?

And the look on her face - _god_ , the look on her face. Those big, expressive doe-eyes looking at him in shock. Searching his face for something. For signs that it's a joke. That he's pulling one over on her in some twisted way.

That his feelings for her are some kind of a prank.

It stings - he knows she'd been so surprised that she couldn't control how her face looked like but, it doesn't make what he'd seen written there hurt any less.

God, he's an idiot.

She's with someone else. She's dating someone. Someone actually great. Someone actually worthy of her.

And he'd gone and confessed, despite that.

He doesn't know what to expect from it - he's gonna be away from her and the 99 for six months, he's not gonna be able to contact them for six months - but, he knows he had just needed her to know. No expectations. No hope for her to reciprocate. Nothing.

Just a need for her to hear him tell her how he feels.

And he keeps telling himself exact that as he drunkenly stumbles into the shit apartment the FBI set him up with  and falls asleep on the gross futon that had come with it.

God, fuck him. Fuck him and his life.

 

 

 

It's not until straight through his second month undercover and working odd jobs for the Ianuccis that he realizes just what he's gotten himself into.

The first few weeks are just basically a blur of working out more than he's ever had in his life - he's not gonna have sex because he has Amy on the brain most of the time and it's out of the question to touch someone else while he's still pining over her and he's trying this maturity thing out and besides, he's gotta put that energy _somewhere_ \- and working at an auto mechanic shop set up by one of Leo's friends.

He's vast on his way to becoming the monk who works out to much when it happens.

See, the Ianucci family is a _proud_  sect of criminals and they make it no secret to him over who they really are when he meets them and aside from Leo, he has the pleasure of meeting Angelo, the eldest brother, Tino, the middle sibling as well as Michael, their father and head of this family of this jolly bunch of hardcore criminals living in an expensive, palatial home in Westchester.

Seriously, they are a _jolly_ bunch.

It's what finally causes him to feel afraid of them when after a run of drugs in Rockland County - yeah, he'd been surprised, too - that Leo receives a phone call from dear ol' pops and the ensuing brief conversation makes him nod frequently and after it ends, he turns and shoots Louis, their eager to please errand boy, in the head.

Point blank. In between the eyes.

And right in front of Jake.

And that's when it hits him that this whole thing. This undercover operation. Isn't a joke. Isn't something to laugh about to his fellow detectives later. Which he should've known because he is a cop. A _fired_ one, but still. He knows these things. Knows that he's with a dangerous bunch of people who do dangerous shit everyday like it's nothing.

But, they do laugh about it.

On the way back, they cackle about the look of terror in poor Louis's eyes and Jake has to clench his fists in order to not lose it.

He just can't - he can't fathom it. Still can't even after this time.

He recalls seeing his first body at twenty-five. Fresh-faced and a just a few months out of the academy. Three girls. Roommates. All slaughtered in their beds while sleeping. The sickening blow to the gut the whole scene had been. And he could still smell the awful odor from that day even now. It'd been his first successful solo solve not only as a rookie but, in his entire career. His first case. His first puzzle.

And he hasn't stopped since.

He'd only met Louis a couple of times before that fateful run.

He had been a good kid. He didn't need to die.

And it's not just murder, either.

Then, there's... the girls - _Jesus Christ, those poor girls_ \- being kidnapped and then forced to... _do things_. For money. For shelter. All normal, middle-class young girls. Underage. Probably virgins.

 _You gotta keep it fresh_. Leo whispers to him one night as they watch a truckful of them arrive. Frightened, willowy, and fragile. _Easy_ to break.

Another time in which Jake has to fight to not go for the gun and badge he has to forcefully remind himself he no longer has and can never use to fix something bound to become broken.

Like those innocent girls.

Like Leo's jaw if he says something disgusting like that ever again.

He recalls one girl, in particular, big scared green eyes catching his gaze by accident as she is led away towards her first customer, those very eyes, honey-colored hair, and the olive of her skin reminding him of Gina so much that it startles him to the realization of how much he's starting to hate these people.

He's never really hated anyone before.

Sure, he's thrown the word hate around one too many times to count and a few specific examples come to mind attached to that very phrase _I hate_ but, even so he's always been a fairly good-natured guy and really, he's just never fully, genuinely _loathed_ anyone.

And it's ugly. It is a truly fucking unfortunate, nasty, ugly feeling and he thinks about Amy - _has_ been thinking about her for ages - to calm it down and how disappointed she'd be if he ruins this operation and also his chances of coming home alive if he lets all this hate swallow him up.

God, he can't wait, though.

He can't wait to put these monsters away.

He can't wait to go home and never do this again. Not like this.

He hates this. Hates the Ianuccis for being the _bastards_ they are. Hates the FBI for putting him here. Hates himself for not being able to do anything while all manner of illegal depravity happens around him.

He hates this. All of it.

He doesn't hate Amy.

He wants to go home.

 

 

 

Jake's never had to kill anyone.

   He's been on the force for nine years already - cut in half because he's now technically _not_ anymore - and it's in New York of all places so, yeah, of course, he's had to, on occasion, pull his weapon out. Sure. Shooting someone? Yeah, okay, he's done it. But, it'd always been because of non-lethal reasons for non-lethal results - he's a cop, after all, it has to happen eventually. One day. When something's bound to go so wrong that that's the only next course of action.

Frankly, he'd much rather make cracks at a perp while thinking of other recourses to handle them.

It's worked out so far.

But, that day? The day where he has no other choice than but, to do something like _that_ thing.

It ends up being on a muggy night in July where when Leo turns to him, hands him a gun, and orders him to execute a loyal hire after five years of service to the Ianuccis.

 _What? Why?_ He recalls asking shock after the other man tells him to do this like he's asking to have the trash taken out.

 _Why? You don't ask why!_  Leo pokes him in the chest and gestures towards the third man up ahead, so unaware of the danger he's in right then. _You do as I say and I want you to kill_ _him. You got it?_

_What's he done?_

_'Scuse me?_

_What did he do to - why do I have to kill him? Why not you?_ He's that desperate that he'd been asking this at that point.

 _Oh, Peralta._ Leo leans in, chuckling and puts a hand the back of his neck. _This is your test, man._ He swerves him to look at his soon-to-be target. _You'll do great. You might feel a_ _little bad after but, it's fine. You'll get used to it._

He hadn't wanted to get used to this. He hadn't wanted to kill this guy.

But, when his so-called buddy harangues the guy onto his knees as he quivors in fear under Jake's gun, he has no choice but, to comply.

_It's either you or him, pal. Your choice._

So, he raises the pistol up - ignoring the fat tears falling down his victim's face and the sinking in his own gut - and... shoots.

Right in between the eyes. Like Leo had done not too long ago to a certain errand boy.

And he feels... like complete and utter shit. Like the lowest form of garbage on the planet. And he thinks he probably shouldn't take this so hard because while Louis had been an innocent, this guy has maybe been the worst. He's maybe killed god knows how many people for his bosses. Put as many drugs and girls in trucks to be delivered to wherever they'd wished.

He doesn't have to feel like this. But, he does.

Complete with the sick feeling that this wouldn't be the first instance he'd have to do something like that.

(Something he finds out in much more horrible ways down the line to be true. It's more girls. Drugs. A few more instances of taking care of people. Sometimes he oversees things. Sometimes not. Sometimes he's just on the sidelines. Either way, these things just serve for him to hate this whole situation more. Begins to serve for him to hate himself more. Falling more and more with each girl taken. Each drug sold. Each dispatch of another life. He hates himself more than anyone involved. Plain and simple.)

Because without the cover and righteous dignity of his badge, he'd taken a human life, regardless of who it was. In the name of a crime family he now despises more than anything.

And it's only after it's all over and he's at his apartment, still numb and in shock over his actions, that he is informed, via one of the many forms of clandestine communication the FBI has allowed him, that the Ianuccis are not as oblivious as they previously thought and are onto something.

They tell him it's why he'd might have been led to shoot the henchman when he flatly explains what he had to do. They'd wanted to make an example out of someone in their ranks as well as test his own loyalty to them and that the bureau won't begrudge him actions coaxed during the operation if it gets him closer to the family.

_You did what you had to. Keep your head on straight, kid._

_Pfft! Unbelievable._

After that, he pulls out a cheap bottle of tequila and reverts to his favorite pastime of thinking about Amy.

He thinks about what she's up to. Does she miss him at all? As a partner or maybe...?

Is she enjoying her time away from him? With another partner? Teddy maybe?

Has she been thinking about him as much as he has her?

Is she waiting for him?

He scoffs drunkenly at that. Of course not. Of course, she's not.

She still has a perfectly nice, normal, un-childish man and why the hell would she ever-

He thinks about that stupid bear and if she's received it yet and if so, does she even _care_ at this point?

He misses her. So much. It's like a constant ache in his heart. The place where she's made a place for herself without even trying. The spot that's now hollow without being able to see her everyday.

He wonders if that's what that dumb saying, _distance makes the heart grow fonder_ , means. If the feeling is quite simply your heart being pained at the absence of it's owner and just wanting them near.

"Shit." He mutters into the mostly dark, lonely space of his crapbox of a cover apartment. "I'm in love, aren't I?"

The darkness remains still. Unanswering.

 

 

 

  He turns thirty-four on August 18, 2014. In the midst of an undercover operation for the FBI whilst living in a shit apartment in a shit building, miles away from everything he knows. The 99. His mom. His co-workers and friends. Amy - who now fits into one two many categories in his life now.

Former partner. Friend. Fellow detective extraordinaire.

Woman he loves.

Because yeah, she's _that_ now. He's calling her that now. Because he's been percolating all these feelings and desires for this woman for long enough and two months of knowing he loves her so, he isn't gonna bother hiding anything anymore. Even if only in the privacy of his own mind.

And it's _so_ accurate, too. They'd been partners for three years before all of this. And she's been somebody with whom he's fluctuated between being rivals and recently, friends. Yet, he's never been more in love.

And what the fuck? He has nothing to lose and the only thing he can do now is make peace with the fact that he's fallen in love with someone who might still be spoken for if and when he ever comes home.

And because he doesn't want his new cohorts to know that much about him, they leave him be and he goes home alone, buying himself a half a sorry-looking birthday cake on the way, and sitting on his unbearable futon with it lit in front of him.

Before he can blow it out though, he reaches for his wallet and takes out the one tangible thing that he'd taken from Brooklyn with him.

He stares at the photo in the weak candlelight.

It'd been taken on a slow day at the precinct. Amy had been at her desk quietly working and he'd sneakily taken a picture with his phone without catching her notice.

And he couldn't tell you why but, he later ends up at a specialty photoshop where he asks to have the snapshot made into a hardcopy version and he finds himself thankful now more than anything that he had done that.

She's at her computer. Alternating between typing and writing things down. Her favorite ballpoint pen being used to nibble on as she concentrates. Eyes front and center. Steady. Focused.

Even then, he'd liked her that way - before his feelings had come to a head to _bite_ him - 'cause it was the only time he could get her unawares. Not able to snap at him or nag him about working. Or calling him an idiot.

He thinks, with a touch of wistfulness, how much better it would be to spend this birthday with her instead of being here, in the middle of this Ianucci business and not for the first time since he's been undercover, he regrets ever saying yes to this. Saying yes to the FBI. Saying yes to signing his life away. Saying yes to being away from everything he knows and cares about.

Saying yes to being yanked away from Amy.

He blows out the damn candles without making a wish because what's the point?

The morning after he wakes up bleary-eyed and cranky with the worst birthday hangover known to man, he receives a message from the feds.

It seems that all his dangerous, deep cover work is paying off and they're getting close to ending this thing.

He can go home soon.

 

 

 

  There's not a lot that would cause Jake Peralta to believe in a higher being. No special deity or god of any kind but, he does know that one thing occurs that might just do it: He returns home exactly six months after he's left it and... Amy's not around.

He internally freaks out for a little bit as the Captain greets him warmly outside the precinct before he even has it in him to ask. His former (hopefully soon-to-be current again) boss being the most expressive he'd ever seen him to be. Even cracking a smile and he wonders exactly what he's missed while he has been away.

"Is Santiago around?"

Holt stares at him for such a long while that he nearly starts to squirm before the older man finally responses. "She's out on a case, Peralta."

He looks around. Shuffles. Tries to find a way to convey-

"I'll tell the squad you had... unfinished business." The other man says with a large amount of knowing in his voice and it's like, what is he, _psychic_?

"Thank you, Sir." And he's out of there. He has to see her. Has to see Amy. Craves seeing the face that's been in his dreams ever since he left her in this very precinct parking lot on that cool, spring in what seemed like forever ago.

It doesn't long and he finds her chasing some fatso drug dealer - he knows one when he sees one - near a few convenience stores on the other side of Brooklyn, where hippies and geriatrics live and quite possibly the only area where he'd never otherwise venture - nevermind the gross alleyway he encounters her in.

And when he scares the bub (later known as _Chico_ , of all things) into running in the opposite direction of him, he turns the corner in the path of where he's running and... finally sees her.

Even from his vantage point, he can see the familiar pastel color of her proper Santiago blouse. The dark shade of her slacks. That librarian bun he'd always secretly dug because it's on her. The aggressive movement of the professional she truly is as she handles her business.

He watches as she tosses her perp like a sack of potatoes, hunching over him to do the rights-and-cuffs deal before he realizes he should make himself known.

But, he's still Peralta. He likes to think he's changed a little. That this undercover thing as somehow done a number on him. That he's a lot more mature now. But, he feels that playfulness emerge. That need to joke arise.

And he doesn't think to keep his mouth shut.

"Nice to see you caught Don Flan."

He's far enough down Piss Alley that she possibly won't see him as clearly as he does but, he's not that far that he doesn't see her visibly stiffen and stop what she's doing, look up, and catch sight of him.

His breath stops.

She squints for a moment and he really adores that frown line he can see forming in between her eyes.

And then she just _runs_ at him.

And it happens very quickly. Like one moment, she's hunched over, handcuffing her guy and then _boom!_ she's on him, giving him the biggest bear hug he's ever experienced. At least from someone her size.

He's startled that he stumbles a bit, emitting an _'oof!'_ sound, when she throws herself on him but, the momentary surprise doesn't stop his arms from automatically encircling her, pleased to have her back in them, even though she'd been in them once at that awful dance competition.

He holds on as she basically paws him, as if searching for purchase on his body, before he swings her around, chuckling into her hair as he does because this is actually the best welcome he ever could have expected and god, why didn't he ever hold her like this more often? It's like she's made for this. To fit into his arms as they surround her. The curve of her spine made for his hands as they explore. Her nose made to fit the crook of his neck. The top of her head made to perfectly be uneven enough towards his cheek that so he could turn his head to smell her hair.

And he does. As he plants her back down, still embracing her, he tilts his face just a little and takes a short whiff and Christ, she still smells like a damn garden - earthy, tempting, _heady_ yet soft and comforting - and it's become his favorite scent. His favorite _thing_ ever. So lovely. So her. So-

"Beautiful." He murmurs low into her hair and feels her take a shaky breath, blowing warm air across his neck, goosebumps sprouting when she does and he shifts, a hand migrating down her back and onto a rounded hip. Thoughtlessly laying a kiss on her forehead and breathing her in.

Then, he pulls back a bit, knuckling under her chin because he wants to see her face up close. Has to. He's been deprived of her for too long that it only seems fair.

And when she does lift her head to look at him... it blows his heart apart.

She's, if possible, _more_ beautiful than when he last saw her. Big, brown eyes searching his own like she's cataloguing him the same way he's doing her. Biting her lip in that way he really wishes he could resist. And he is struck with how in love he is with this woman.

"Amy..."

Then she does something he would never have expected (welcome embrace not withstanding). Lifting onto her chunky heels. Leaning up into him and...

.... Kissing him. Hard.

And it is clumsy and out of nowhere and just really, really _good_. And he's so surprised that it takes him a minute to respond and even then it's just small movements against hers and before he knows it, the contact has ended and he is left dumbfounded, realizing at some point, he's grabbed onto her upper arms and after watching her shake off the daze from the kiss and see where his hands are, he removes them and babbles an innane apology and doesn't hesitate when she gestures towards the crying man behind them and heads over with her, taking the reins on cuffing and reading him his rights, swearing to God he could feel Amy's eyes on him the entire time.

He has no idea what that was just then. That kiss.

But, he is gonna find out because even as he shoves Chico's head into Santiago's backseat, he could still feel the supple softness of her lips on his and the hint of a spice on her breath and good god, he's screwed.

Ugh, dammit. He has it bad. Oh so _bad_.

 

 

 

 She bails on him.

   Which, okay, yeah, he should have expected because the girl doesn't enjoy confrontation and he knows she could probably tell he's rearing for one of sorts as they get near the station after that alley kiss and of course, when they do arrive he doesn't take into account, despite his long absence, the enthusiasm of his colleagues greeting him (well, Boyle, yes, but you know) and distracting him to the issue at task and it's not until half way through regaling Charles with the sunnier, juicy details of his undercover work does he notice she's not in the bullpen with the rest of his welcome party.

He can tell she's still nearby though because he can see her stuff at their shared desk still and he waits 'til the welcome party lets up a bit to question Boyle.

"How's Santiago been doing without me around?" He blurts without thought and winces immediately at his error, considering he might just get he won't wanna hear, like she'd been fine and happy with her boyfriend to worry about him or that she'd been more than fine without him or-

"Amy... She's uh, she's been... okay."

Normally, he would believe something like that but, with the way his friend avoids his eye the entire time he answers him pulls at his lie meter.

"Charles?"

Still no looking at him. "Hmm?"

He leans in close, lowering his voice. "You wanna try again, buddy?"

And the warning in his tone is enough to gather the other man's full attention and he snaps his head back, eyes wide. Caught.

He simply cocks a brow, waiting.

"She's been sad."

Oh no, _that's_ not what he wanted to hear. "Sad? Sad how?"

"Just sad." Followed by a liar's shrug.

He growls. "Boyle, I swear to Christ-"

"It's just..." His short friend gesticulates desperately for a minute. "... She would have these moments."

"Moments?"

"Yeah, like, she would stare at your desk for a long time and then disappear to Rosa and Gina's secret bathroom..."

Secret what now?

"... And then, maybe twenty minutes later she'd come back and be more relaxed but... her eyes would be red. Like she had ben crying."

He feels himself nod, a twisty sensation in his stomach. "Boyle?"

"Yeah?"

"How are things between her and Teddy?"

That earns him the widest of eyes, if possible and he again stares him down until he sighs. "She broke up with him, I think not long after you left."

_She's not with Teddy anymore..._

That twisty feeling falls away and is replaced by a newer, lighter one that seems suspiciously like hope. Like a teeny tiny sunbeam in his gut.

He nods again, his jaw tight. "You don't say." He murmurs mostly to himself and a feeling like he's being watched settles over him simultaneously and for whatever reason he has the urge to turn around and when he does, she's right there. In the breakroom.

It seems Amy had found herself the worst hiding place and it's also not a very good one and he manages to catch her eyes on him a second before she looks away.

_Oh, Santiago. We are totes gonna have a talk later._

 

 

 

 Obviously, her little disappearing act isn't gonna fly.

 _Oh no, you don't._ He thinks as he drives towards her apartment building and he's worked himself into such a state on the way that he's decidedly less than impatient with her when she answers her phone on the very first ring. _"'Ello?"_

She sounds muffled like he's caught her snacking out or something and he can plainly hear Goldie Hawn in the background and since today's been surprising and she ran to her apartment to recover, he's betting big bucks that she's watching Private Benjamin right now (yeah, she thinks he doesn't know about that). Vegged out on her couch. Wearing pjs or one of her sweatshirts probably. With a lapful of caramel corn because that's her favorite snack.

Looking adorably stressed out, maybe.

Yet, his waning patience knows no bounds. "Get down here." He demands in leui of an actual greeting.

He hears her sputter from the other end of the line. _"Jake?"_

She sounds so surprised that he frankly can't help himself. "Who do you think?" He replies with heavy sarcasm. "Get down here."

He shoulda known it'd bring her hackles up. His commanding her like that. _"Excuse me-"_

"Santiago." He runs a hand through his hair, sighing. "I'm tired. I've been undercover for the last six months. It's September in New York so, it's really colder than it should be and I..." He trails off before being as sincere as he can be at this point. "... I just really wanna see you so, you could please come down here?"

There's a pause. A pause so long that he briefly worries that she's hung up on him.

"Amy?"

It's another few minutes and then for some reason, he looks up and steps back, cellphone in hand just in time for Amy to peak her head out of her window and sees him there before quickly going back in and shutting her window once more.

And then it's like five minutes tops before the front door of her building barrels open and she's there, breathing hard and adorable, and to his surprise - he really stop with this surprised thing, nothing should surprise him anymore with her - every bit of affection he holds in his heart for this woman eclipses an annoyance he may have had on the way over to her and he leans against his car, hands in his pockets, as she seems to pause at in front of her door before approaching more calmly. Cautiously.

Also, he's right. She is wearing a sweatshirt. A surprisingly funky-looking one with the name of that book he's always seeing her read at work. With faded jeans tucked into tattered boots. And a, for once, messy bun at the top of her head.

He could vividly picture her rushing to put everything together before coming down and his chest goes tight with yearning for her.

But, he holds strong as she approaches him. "Hey."

And he could hit himself with what he blurts out. "Why'd you leave?"

He's able to cover his internal wince over his impulsiveness, however, and gazes at steadily as she looks at him, visibly stumped. "I-What?"

It's as if he doesn't bother resisting as his feet carry him closer to her. "Earlier at the station." He reiterates. "After such an enthusiastic greeting..." He takes another step closer still, his heart pounding. "... Can you blame a guy for being confused?" He asks, taking a last one in front of her now.

He means to be harmless. Almost playful here. He doesn't wanna scare her.

Yet, now she's close enough to touch, his hand has a mind of it's own and reaches up to take care of a lock of errand hair and put it behind her ear, sliding down to cradle her jaw as his other hand joins in, feeing that familiar pull towards her, her eyes wide and expressive, as he leans in, distantly hearing himself whisper of how much he's missed her before he's there, sharing her air and it's just another inch before-

"Wait." She suddenly utters, breathless and rushed, and he stops just as his lips are about to touch hers, her expression dazed. "Just wait a minute, okay?"

He slides his hands off her face and steps away, almost sure he sees disappointment cross her face as he does.

"I have something I need to say." She adds with more stability, taking a deep breath he can practically see.

He nods. "Okay."

She meets his eye then, trepidation written there. "Before you left, you told me you have feelings for me, is that still true?"

God, does she even _need_ to ask? "Yes." He replies immediately, wanting that look of nervous insecurity good and gone. "I thought about you everyday." He adds in order for her to get it. Like, fully get that a love like his could never dissipate. Not even by her absence. 

And he's pretty sure she sees that because she takes a small, as forced by her own, step towards him. "Amy-"

"I broke up with Teddy." She says out of nowhere, staring at his lips. "Soon after you left, I broke up with him." She shrugs, then goes on to say. "It felt like the right thing to do because I-"

"You what?" He asks, gazing down at her, so close he's breathing in her scent one more. A garden, indeed. "Because you what?"

He touches her face again, drawn in by her shallow breath, stroking the area under her eye, her skin soft under his hand and he could think of nothing but, pulling her close again, feeling her kiss one more time, seeing her respond like that-

"Because I have feelings for you, too."

The minute he hears that, real concrete spoken evidence that she has been feeling even one-tenth of what he has, he gives her the widest, happiest smile he could muster without splitting his face open and then, without a second thought, (because it's his turn, still), kisses her, slowly cupping her face and tangling his tongue in her mouth and reveling in the quiet moan she emits as a result, her arms wrapping around his neck and leaning up into and he's so caught in it that there's only one thought to cross his mind before he gives himself up to this haze.

 _Cinnamon._ He mind produces softly. _She tastes like cinnamon._

 

 

 

  They somehow get upstairs and he ends up trapping her between himself and her door, getting it open with the sheer force of their bodies and then blindly closing it behind them because he's too busy sucking her tongue into his mouth and simultaneously getting his leather jacket off, which Amy simply yanks off him and throws somewhere in her apartment, his impatience leaving him no room to care and he winds up lifting her, her legs encircling his waist as they stumble around.

They have sex for the first time together on her living room carpet.

And yeah, it is awesome and harsh and a bit brutal and over too quickly and he only has the forethought to shove off her jeans and boots, her sweatshirt barely gone before he's unzipped himself and thrusting inside her. And he's graceless and has _zero_ finesse and really, she deserves better but, when he feels her clench around him, coming so hard that she makes a startled, high noise that he's never heard from her and he follows her, violently shaking from his own full-bodied climax and they both lay there, his head cushioned between her breasts, before they can have enough energy to move and only then he is able to indulge in his fantasy of carrying her to a bedroom.

He couldn't tell you how long they spend in that bedroom - all over that bedroom, in fact, 'cause he's never gonna look at the foot of her bed again without thinking of her rising up and down over him, using his shoulders to _ride_ him as long as she pleases - exploring. Teasing. Giving and receiving.

Making love.

Which is so new and novel to him that it doesn't occur to him that it's what they're actually doing until he has her. On her bed. Astride him. Those tiny fairy hands clutching his face as they move together. Their eyes never leaving each other. Breathing in the same oxygen. Holding each other tight. And he swears he could see her get misty-eyed as he gazes into them and he could feel, aside the amazement of her here with him like this, a click inside him, as if everything's finally being put into place and it's like, whoa, is _this_ what everyone's been going on about? Is _this_ what love is? Is _this_ what true love being consummated is supposed to feel like?

He thinks it is and he spends a lot of time explaining through his own actions of how that means to him to her.

He doesn't even think he's up for saying the words that have been on the tip of his tongue since he had figured them out in the dark of his cold, lonely undercover shit apartment until they're lying in bed recovering and he is, of all things, the big spoon which has never happened before and that sunbeam of hope has nestled as tight into his heart as he does into her hair.

He can't really see her face but, he has a good idea what she looks like because she keeps trailing her fingernails up and down his arms surrounding her - she seems to enjoy the fruits of his lonely labor and has made comments to drive home that she enjoys his stronger build - and he also hears make these happy little sighs and it all just serves to enourage him more. Makes him braver.

"Amy?" He says, disturbing the intimate hush around them.

"Hmm?" She hums, still kinda distracted by her arm exploring, he could tell.

He tightens his hold on her, sighing onto her skin. "I love you."

There, he's done it. He said it.

And he waits as he feels her still in his embrace for a moment, fear not even entering the equation until the silence starts getting too long and it's like, oh god, why did he have to say like that? So soon and so-

He feels her turn her head towards him and when he looks down she's smiling. Teeth-baring, brilliant and impossibly bigger than any smile he's ever wanted directed his way. "Dummy." She says without bite, a tease under the surface, her tone happy. "You're supposed to tell me that before to get me into bed. Not after."

And just like that, he gets it. Gets that's her way of telling how she feels. And it is such a relief that he feels his whole body unmold all at once, that sunbeam blasting through him.

And he wouldn't have it any other way.

He grins back at her, laughing with her as she turns back, leaning in to snuggle her closer. "Yeah." He hears himself, jovially. "I screwed that up, eh?"

Even from his angle, he can certainly _imagine_ the smile on her face as he kisses her neck affectionately.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yeee! Finished! :) Hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading. Hopefully, it was as good as it's predecessor and wasn't too angsty or dark or anything. Again, you guys are amazing!! :)
> 
> OH! Also, because I didn't do it on the other story, here's the link to the sweatshirt Amy wears at the end there, in case any of you were wondering: http://shop.outofprintclothing.com/Pride_and_Prejudice_book_cover_fleece_p/l-1027.htm


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